Honey, I Shrunk the Winchesters
by darcydelaney
Summary: Basically, a witch shrinks Sam and Dean down to doll size; chaos and tiny adventures ensue.
1. Chapter 1

This fic was 100% inspired by art from the super lovely spookicles on tumblr! Thank you so much again for letting me write this!

* * *

><p>It was supposed to be easy.<p>

That's what they figured. Just one tiny witch causing some havoc in a small town outside of Boston that, ironically, wasn't Salem. In and out in an afternoon; maybe they'd even have time to grab some lunch.

It probably would've been easy, too, if they had stuck to their normal witch-hunting routine, but Dean had been insistent—he could do this, it'd be cake. Sam had also been insistent—Dean had never used his demon powers on anyone other than Sam, and even then, they had just been tested for a few seconds.

"How hard can it be, Sammy? If fucking Crowley can do it, then so can I."

They traced the witch to an abandoned house that used to belong to the Miller family, before it was partially destroyed in a fire. The Millers left almost immediately, not even bothering to move out their remaining belongings. The town had rebuilt the place in an effort to sell it—or at least make it less of an eyesore—but there were no takers. Now it just sat on the end of the street, acting as a prime location for kids to dare their friends to spend the night in during Halloween.

It was a great location for a witch to set up shop. The witch looked surprised when Sam and Dean made their presence known in her living room, and Dean was a little too excited to have a witch to use his powers on for the first time.

"Friggin' witches, man," he mutters before focusing on the woman pressed up against the table, apparently trying to decide whether it's more important to protect her work or herself. Dean's eyes flick to black, and Sam's stomach drops. He swallows hard and looks away, still not comfortable with seeing his brother's eyes change like that, so quickly and easily. Dean glances back at Sam, but doesn't say anything before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Dean holds his hand out, fingers splayed, toward the witch, but nothing happens. He looks down at his palm and blinks, his eyes turning back from black to their regular green, and secretly, Sam is relieved. Yeah, it probably doesn't mean anything good for their current situation, but for the long-term, Sam hopes it's positive.

The witch straightens and cocks her head, her smile growing wider by the second.

"Oh," she says. "Well, this is just so interesting."

"Uh, Dean," Sam hisses.

"I'm trying, Sam," Dean answers through clenched teeth. Before he can do anything else, though, he lets out a yell as he's thrown backward and pinned against the exact same wall he wanted to pin that witch to.

"A demon…that can't…do anything." She walks toward Dean, who struggles against the hold. Sam runs forward to try and help him, but the witch casts him against the opposite wall with a flick of her hand.

She locks her fingers around Dean's throat and studies him curiously.

"What's the matter, sugar," she says, "you new?"

Dean grits his teeth and glares at her, struggling to pull in even the smallest amount of air, but he's not doing well. He squeezes his eyes shut as the witch traces his jaw with her other hand.

"You are, aren't you?" She licks her lips and smiles before tightening her grip. Dean's eyelids flutter; he can hear Sam yell his name from across the room.

"Well, Dean, was it?" She glances over her shoulder at Sam. "Dean, you're lucky I'm feeling generous tonight."

The witch closes her eyes and starts chanting. It only lasts a few seconds, but to Dean, it feels like hours. When she stops, she smiles at him—it almost looks apologetic—before releasing him.

Dean collapses to the floor, gasping. He hears her say, "Good luck, sweetheart," and then everything fades to black.

"Dean."

Dean moans and swats weakly at whoever's talking to him. He stiffens when he feels someone catch his wrist and hold it still.

"C'mon, man, wake up. We've got a problem."

"Y're a prollem," Dean mumbles.

"I'm gonna let that slide, but only because you just got your ass handed to you. Now wake up."

After a few more moments, Dean opens his eyes. His head is pounding, and he's face-to-face with a blurry Sam.

"Jesus."

"We've got a problem, dude."

"What? You mean a bigger problem than the fact that my friggin' demon powers don't work?"

"Just a tad bit bigger." Sam waits for Dean to sit up, then points to a tall wooden structure. "What's that?"

Dean looks at Sam warily. "Sammy, we don't have time for—"

"What's that?"

"I don't know, dude, a tree?"

"A chair, Dean. That's a fucking chair."

Dean stares at his brother, then back at the structure. "No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is. Look down; we're on carpet. We're still in the Miller house."

"Dude, that's…no." Dean doesn't want to, but he looks up anyway; sure enough, they're standing in front of a chair. But whereas two hours ago they'd be able to sit in it, now they only have four inches on the thing. And that's being generous.

Dean turns to look at Sam. "She didn't."

"I think she did, man."

Dean is silent for a minute, then drops his head back to the carpeting. "Goddamn it."

"You have to have read something about how to fix this," Dean moans, burying his head in his hands. "Fix it, Sam!"

Sam glares at his older brother. "Oh, sure, Dean. Let me just grab my mini how-to-change-things-back-to-their-regular-size handbook and get together all the research and materials we need to actually put together a spell like that and change us back. Shouldn't take more than an hour."

After a few moments, Dean looks up at him. "Well, why are you still here?"

Sam flips him off.

"Seriously, what the hell are we supposed to do?"

Sam shakes his head. "I have no idea, man. I mean, we need to research and try and figure out the exact spell she used on us so we can reverse it, and hope it's not too complicated. The only problem is…"

"…we're the size of friggin' Oompa Loompas," Dean finishes.

"Actually, Oompa Loompas are probably a lot bigger than us."

Dean glares at him. "Oh, great. Perfect. That's just perfect." He pauses. "Do you think we could call Cas?"

"With what?" Sam asks.

Dean looks confused for a second. "What, you think our phones didn't shrink with us? Our clothes did." He pats his jeans pocket and digs inside, his hand resurfacing with a tiny version of his cell. He smirks at Sam triumphantly as he thumbs through it and dials Cas' number.

"Cas? Hey, man, we need your h—"

Dean folds his arms across his chest.

"What d'you mean, what's wrong with my voice?"

Sam's eyes widen.

"Cas, I don't know what the hell you're ta—oh, Christ," Dean says, finally realizing it. "You've gotta be kidding me," he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Dean can see Sam muttering something to himself out of the corner of his eye, testing his voice.

"It's a long story, Cas. Can you just come meet us? We're at 4815 Lorna, in Medford. And don't, like, stomp around or anything." A pause. "It'll make sense when you get here, man."

There's a soft whoosh almost immediately after Dean repockets his phone, and Cas' gravelly voice echoes throughout the room.

"Dean."

Dean looks up to see a Statue-of-Liberty-sized Cas standing above—and very clearly not seeing—them.

"Cas! Hey, down here!" Dean starts waving his arms over his head.

Cas swats the air in front of his face, as if trying to deter a fly.

"Dean?"

Sam stands up next to his brother and both of them yell simultaneously. It's just barely loud enough to get Cas' attention, and he looks down at them. His brow furrows as he cocks his head, and then he kneels down in front of them.

"Dean? Sam?"

Dean folds his arms over his chest and looks down at the floor, scuffing his shoe against it. "Hey, Cas."

"You're small."

"We're aware."

"You didn't become this way voluntarily."

Dean drops his arms to his sides and rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "No, we didn't, Cas, which is why we need your help!"

Cas adjusts his sitting position so that his legs are crossed, and looks intently at Dean. "What should I do?"

Sam suggests they find somewhere safe for them to stay and not get lost until they figure out a way to reverse the curse. Cas holds his hand out and Sam and Dean climb on, like they're getting ready to go on a ride at an amusement park.

"A witch did this," Cas says. It's not a question, and Dean clenches his jaw.

"Yeah," he mutters. "And the sooner we can fix this, the better, man."

"Cas, we need you to help us research everything we need to reverse this spell, okay?" Sam says. "Check out the library, the Internet, anything you can think of, and then once you have it figured out, bring everything we need back here and we can start working on a reversal."

"And if I can't find anything?"

Sam scrubs his hand over his mouth. "Just, uh, just try really hard for us, Cas, okay? Because if you can't find anything, then we're—"

"So fucking fucked," Dean interrupts.

Sam nods. "Yeah. Basically."

Cas purses his lips and nods before a troubling thought seems to hit him. "I don't have a library card."

Sam and Dean stare at him. "Jesus, Cas, you don't need one. You think Sammy has a fucking library card?" Dean snaps.

Sam looks at Dean curiously. "You mean you don't have a library card?" he asks.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. I've had one since I was ten, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Irrelevant." He scrubs a hand over his face and refocuses on Cas. "Just go in there and do some research without taking the books out of the fucking place. Easy enough, right?"

"I suppose," Cas says hesitantly. "I don't wish to leave you alone, though. Some animal could get you, or a child."

"Cas, nothing's gonna—" Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.

"He might have a point, dude. It'd be easier for him to find us—and not, like, accidentally step on us—if we had," he twists his hand in the air, trying to find the right word, "a home base, or something. Another bunker."

Cas looks down at them, noticeably uncomfortable. "Do you feel safe in my palm while we search, or would you prefer to be moved elsewhere?"

Sam and Dean look at each other, then back at Cas.

"Kinda like flying, huh, Dean?" Sam asks. He cranes his neck to look over at Cas' other shoulder, where his brother is perched, all rigid body and wide eyes.

"Shut up, Sam," he says through gritted teeth.

Sam laughs as he hears Dean mutter something about there not even being seatbelts here.

"I won't allow you to fall, Dean," Cas says.

"Gee, thanks, Cas."

"Let's try upstairs," Sam says. "Maybe there'll be something up there we can use."

Cas takes the staircase one step at a time, planting both feet on each step and going as slow as possible to avoid spooking Dean, but it's not working.

"Dude, I fall from here, and I'm gonna break my…everything!" Dean protests when Sam tells him to relax.

"Cas isn't gonna let you fall, man. Just calm down, you're gonna-"

"Shit, found our home base."

Sam glares at his brother for a second, then follows his finger; he's pointing at a dusty plastic dollhouse.

"Are you serious?"

"What? It's a home, we need a base." Dean looks at him like he's crazy. "Home. Base."

"Dean, it looks like it hasn't been touched in years."

"We've stayed in motel rooms that haven't been touched in years; what's the difference? Let us down, Cas."

Cas' giant blue eyes glance at Sam, who shrugs before sighing as Cas places the brothers on the ground in front of the dollhouse. Dean takes the lead, strolling inside to check out their new digs.

"Look, I knew it was good," he says, flopping onto the faded pink sofa in the living room. He tries to hide his wince of pain when his tailbone hits the hard plastic, but he knows he's failed when Sam smirks.

"What if there are mice?" Sam asks, running his hand over the back of a pale yellow armchair.

"No mice."

"You sure?"

"So sure."

"After last time, I would've figured you'd have scoured the place before we decided to stay—"

Dean doesn't look at Sammy, just points a stern finger his way. "That was one time, Sammy. Hear me? One time."

They both turn to look at Cas, who has a confused expression on his face.

"Is—"

"It's nothing, Cas," Dean grumbles.

"I think this house will act as sufficient protection from the elements," Cas says.

"Great. See, Sammy? Cas approves. Now can we please start trying to figure out how the hell to get us back to normal?"

Before Cas can respond, Dean perks up with another request. "Oh! Could you get us some food, too, man?"

"Food?"

"Yeah."

"Food," Cas repeats, "that's small enough for you to consume."

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Sam interjects before he can say anything.

"Just buy something regular-sized and—"

"Not a salad, Cas, got that?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Fine. Grab us a cheeseburger and just give us bite-sized pieces of it. It'll be enough for the night, and hopefully that'll be all we'll need."

Cas studies the brothers for a moment before nodding slightly. "I'll return shortly with research and nourishment."

"Thanks, man," Dean says, and Sam smiles at Cas.

Sam and Dean hear Cas heading down the stairs, and Dean turns to Sam and rubs his hands together.

"Whaddaya say, Sammy? Let's go check the rest of this place out."


	2. Chapter 2

**TheVampireDragon:** thanks! and i totally forgot to do a note about it in the first chapter, but it's set pretty much any time after the season 9 finale :)  
><strong>LeeMarieJack: <strong>ha! hopefully there will be a cat somewhere in the tiny winchesters' future xD

* * *

><p>"Hey, how come Cas thought our voices sounded so squeaky? You sound fine to me, dude."<p>

"We're both small," Sam says, "so I'm guessing we sound the same to each other, but to regular-sized people, we…don't."

Dean chews on his lower lip and nods. "You know how great this would've been for prank calls, Sammy?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "You never make prank calls. Not even when we were kids."

"It's the principle of the thing, Sam," Dean says, clapping his brother on the back. "Gotta take advantage."

The brothers make their way through the dollhouse, and even though it hasn't been used in what seems like years, most of the items inside are still intact. Sure, everything's made of plastic and the beds are hard as rocks, but it's a place to stay.

"C'mon, Sam," Dean says, sitting on the stairs and sticking his legs out from between the banister posts, letting them dangle, "lighten up. Nothing's gonna get us in this goddamn fortress."

He smacks his open palm hard against the wall, only to hear a crack from somewhere else.

"Shit," he mutters.

"_Jesus_, Dean!" Sam snaps. "Try thinking before you do something for like, two seconds, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean's pulling his legs back through the banisters now and heading down the stairs.

"Just—" Sam throws his hands up in the air "—fucking _think _about what you're gonna do before you do it. About what the damn consequences are."

Dean pouts playfully. "C'mon, Sammy, I think."

"Yeah? Like the time you thought about it before taking on the fucking Mark of Cain? Is that what you mean by 'you think,' Dean?" Sam glares at his older brother and stalks off into the kitchen.

"Sam!"

"_No_." Sam turns around and takes in Dean's slightly shocked expression. "Whatever your explanation's gonna be, Dean, I don't want to hear it. I didn't want to see you become a killer, I didn't want to see your eyes go black, and I sure as shit don't want to hear your explanation."

Dean stops in his tracks and chews on his lip again. "Okay," he finally says softly. "Fine. Okay."

They stay there in silence for a few moments, Sam sitting at the kitchen table, Dean standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

"I can't believe you got us into this mess," Sam finally adds, crossing his arms.

Dean drops his casual stance and stares at his brother. "Oh, _I'm_ the one that got us into this?"

"Yes, because you screwed up and the witch used her chance to make us like this."

Dean leans on the kitchen chair in front of him and stares stonily at his brother. "Hey, I'm still learning how to control these new demon powers, all right?"

Sam glares at him. "Well, your powers aren't enough to get us out of this one."

"Ugh, I _know_. Cas is working on it, Sam."

"Dean. Sam."

"Jesus!" Dean yelps. He glances through the window and makes eye contact with Cas…or at least, with his eye. "Can you tone it down, Cas?"

"I have provided food small enough for you to eat. May I open the house to hand it to you?"

"…Yeah, sure, Cas." Dean scrubs a hand over his face before approaching the wall that Cas is about to pull away.

"Why do we even need a dollhouse?" Sam says, speaking to Dean's back as Dean takes the plates from Cas.

"'Cause it's awesome and we happened to find it in storage, Sam. Plus, you said we needed a bunker, so here we are."

"I didn't mean a fucking dollhouse, Dean. And besides, what if it's haunted?"

Dean turns back around and glances at his brother bemusedly. "Well, good thing we're professionals at hunting, huh?"

Sam flips him off.

Dean observes the food and makes an approving noise. "Burgers! Or at least pieces of them; good call, Cas."

"Thank you." Cas crouches down, resting his elbows on his knees. "I wanted to get them to you before they became cold, so time for research has been limited."

"How limited?" Dean asks, taking a bite of his burger.

"I have to return within the next few minutes," Cas tells them. "The library closes soon, and I have reserved a portable computer until closing time."

Dean raises his eyebrows and glances at Sam. "Takes after you pretty well, Sammy."

Sam doesn't say anything to his brother, focusing his attention on Cas instead. "So you'll be back tomorrow? Do you think you'll have something figured out by then?"

"I believe so. At least enough to make a reversal that has a possibility of being successful."

Sam nods. "Okay. That's good. Thanks, Cas."

"See you tomorrow?" Dean asks.

Cas nods quickly. "Tomorrow," he repeats. Then as quickly as he appeared, he's gone again.

"His whole 'lack-of-grace' thing doesn't really seem to be affecting his zapping around all over the place," Dean says softly, not sure if he's addressing the comment to his brother or no one. Sam doesn't reply, so he decides on no one.

They finish their dinner in silence.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, Sam walks into the living room to see Dean staring at the faded, peeling sticker on the TV screen.<p>

"Having fun?" he asks with a smirk.

Dean doesn't look at him. "This is what I've been reduced to, Sammy. Stuck in a dollhouse watching a goddamn fucking sticker." Dean throws his hand out in a wordless gesture of frustration.

Sam laughs. "C'mon, dude, it'll be fine. We'll figure out how to reverse this, and pretty soon you'll be able to catch up with Dr. Sexy in no time."

"Dr. Sexy's on hiatus!" Dean wails dramatically, sprawling out on the couch and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Sam rolls his eyes. He glances at Dean, who hasn't moved, and sighs.

"Listen, man, I'm…" Dean uncovers his eyes and looks at Sam. "I'm sorry I freaked out earlier."

Dean waves the apology away. "C'mon, Sammy."

"No, Dean, seriously," Sam says, "it was a dick move, and I know more than anybody that you have a lot of…shit to deal with. I know why you agreed to take on the Mark, even though I might not agree with it, but I know why you did it, for good reason. But this—" he gestures toward Dean's eyes "—it's a lot to handle, and it's tough, man."

Dean narrows his eyes. "Let's just skip the demon sob story, huh?"

Sam ignores him. "I…I don't know, man. I don't think I realized how fucked up it must've been for you to see my eyes go black back with, uh, with Ruby, and when I saw yours, I just…I don't know."

Dean shifts his lips to one corner of his face and looks down at his hands. "Sam…"

Sam holds up his hands and stands up. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, okay? I just wanted to apologize. So, I'm sorry. And if you nee—want to talk about it, I'm here. That's it." He looks at his older brother, who still won't meet his gaze. "G'night, Dean."

He heads toward the faded pink staircase and just barely catches Dean's soft, "Night, Sammy."

* * *

><p>Sam feels stupid going to the non-functioning bathroom to empty his very-much-functioning bladder, but that's where Dean insisted they put the bucket—well, more like one of those little measuring cups used to dole out liquid medicine that Cas found in the house's normal-sized bathroom cabinet—and that's where Sam went.<p>

Still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Sam starts back to his room when he notices Dean standing stiffly at the other end of the hall, staring at nothing.

"Dean?" Sam asks, taking a cautious step toward his brother.

Maybe he's sleepwalking. He hasn't done that in years, but Sam remembers what happened the last time he tried to wake him up while he was sleepwalking, and he has no desire for Dean to punch him hard enough to break his nose again. Dean doesn't turn around or show any sign of hearing him, though, and against his better judgment, Sam continues.

"Dean, are you—"

Sam is cut off when Dean claps his hand over his mouth, peering around the corner. Sam glares at him and grabs his wrist, pulling his brother's hand away from his mouth.

"What the hell, man?" he whispers.

"There's something in here, Sammy."

For the first time, Sam notices that his brother is holding a tiny fireplace poker with a white-knuckle grip.

"What?"

"Listen."

Sam stares at his brother impatiently as they both stand in the darkness. He's just about to open his mouth when he hears a sound. It's not much, just a tiny little rustle, but there's nothing in this house that should be rustling. Not when he and Dean are both right here.

Dean glances over his shoulder at him and presses a finger to his lips before turning the corner and taking a few cautious steps forward. There's a thud as something—Sam hopes it's the poker and not his brother's body—hits the floor, and Dean's whisper of "Holy fucking shit."

"What is i…" Sam's voice trails off as he takes in the scene of Dean staring straight ahead into the eight blinking eyes of a spider. A fucking spider that if they were normal size, Sam would've crushed without even realizing it, but now, it's the size of a horse.

"Fuckin' Shelob, man," Dean breathes, taking a step back. The spider takes a step forward.

"Why'd you drop the poker?" Sam hisses.

"Oh, sorry, was my reaction to seeing a giant fucking spider not acceptable to you?"

"How're we supposed to fight that thing now?"

"Running's always worked in the past."

"We need to get it out," Sam says. "There's no way I'm sleeping knowing that thing's still running around in here, dude. No fucking way."

"Then be my guest, Indiana Jones. Kill it."

"It'll kill me!"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Exactly why I suggested we run."

Sam doesn't look at Dean, keeping his eyes trained on the spider, who is still staring intently at the brothers.

"Yeah," Sam finally says softly. "Yeah, okay, let's run. Follow my lead, dude, and Dean?"

"Mhmm?"

"Run as fast as you can."

"Sammy…"

"Go!"

Sam bursts into action and Dean follows suit. They stumble down the stairs and run through the kitchen. Dean trips himself up over one of the chairs, giving the spider precious milliseconds to catch up to him.

"I won't come back for you!" Sam yells.

"Bitch!" Dean hollers, wincing as he puts pressure on his twisted ankle. Sam is headed for the stairs again, and grabs for the door to the closet that's built into the staircase. Presumably, it's used for kids to store the doll furniture when they're done playing, but for the Winchesters, it's a prime spider trap. Sam hurls the door open.

"Left!"

Dean turns off to the left an inch before he reaches the closet, and the spider skitters inside. They can hear the thunk of its body hitting the wall, and Sam slams the door closed. He and Dean press their bodies against it, and they both eventually slide to the floor, breathing heavily.

"Jerk," Sam mutters.


End file.
